


touch.

by witheldjeans



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Scars, Touching, Touchy-Feely, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23238733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witheldjeans/pseuds/witheldjeans
Summary: “i… just want you here. with me.” he says softly, your hand softly buzzing at the feeling of his voice. he held your hand to him until you met his eyes, red and teary but loving nonetheless.
Relationships: Alucard (Castlevania)/Reader, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 165





	touch.

**Author's Note:**

> hi :) thank you for reading my thing. kinda wanna do a part 2, hey maybe even a three - let me know what you think your comments fuel my soul and add years to my lifespan. but fr feedback is appreciated, thank you again :)

nimble finger tips extend in the space between your bodies, a pardoning ask, a run on sentence of the questions your lips dared not form. in fear they would build walls around him, suffocate him of the already delicate fragility within his skull. 

his heart was somber, built in a vast expansion of endless ocean. the waves rippled on for what seemed an eternity within him. not even pain could hurt him any longer. not when he was determined in his own emptiness to say otherwise. like the hills of sand in a desert, a courthouse at midnight - the word spoken there were plentiful, holding many promises and words he held agnostic views for. 

and he was beautiful like that. 

your hands, they were so afraid to touch him. so afraid to hurt him like previous ones had. so afraid you might meet his skin, and he’d disavow from your finger tips. 

the bed sunk beneath your weight, a shallow depression where you joined him on the surface. his vision casted downwards, his irises of golden sunlight reminded you of home. his body was a single foot away, yet he seemed so distant. as if he was a hundred miles away from you. 

his eyes peer into your hand, and he knows you’re going to try again. and for a short second he thinks he might be able to push through it and feel comforted in your touch again without thinking of them. 

your eyes trace his perturbed face. he would watch every movement, count each second your hand neared his body. a voice within the confines of his head would remind him that this was okay. this person was okay to touch you. she won’t hurt you. not her.

but they did, they did hurt him. and the scars still remained on his pale snow-like skin, as a reminder of his trauma. as a reminder of the last time he trusted someone. and to perhaps never do that ever again. 

something of a wince contorted his already worrisome features, and your arm freezes in it’s movements. your eyes dart upwards to watch his eyes. he is hurting. you can see that familiar look, knowing him too well not to.

“i-i’m sorry.” your knuckles fold inwards, hand retracting as your eyes softened upon his face.

he lifts his gaze from the space between you both, the sunlight flooding into the room that painted the walls in a dripping warmth touching your forearms as chill bumps raised to the freckled surface. 

inside his chest he feels his heart begin to ache, it’s dull - but spreads through his chest as the sunlight refracts to touch his face and chest. he basks in the faint feeling for a moment, energy floods his veins as he sits on the bed before you. 

“i’m sorry, i-i…” you cut your words, a strong pull burns the back of your throat as you look at him and imagine him to be the broken man you’d say you’d never see him as. 

but he was indeed a broken man. in a broken castle built by a broken and hateful man. you knew the things that happened to him affected him - regardless if he’d admit those words or not. you say his feeble spirit and loved it. 

your vision was flooded with salty tears as you thought of how he was hurt, your adrain. and you wished nothing more than for him to be okay. as amazing as he was, and still the things people did to him. 

you felt pathetic.

he watches your small wrist comes to your cheeks, smearing away the tears that roll down them - a soft sniffle sounding in the room before his eyes widened as his hands gently raised. 

“y/n, my dear-” “i want to take it all away.”

he blinks a few times, his hands lowering to his lap. he forgets the resistance, the wall, that he’d built around himself for a moment as he watched you. 

“i w-wish- i wish you didn’t hurt anymore… i wish i could m-make the p-pain stop.” a piteous sob fills the air, your shoulders softly bouncing as you do so. 

alucard feels his eyes widen softly, of all the eyes he’d seen in the world. he’d seen hate, in many different ways he saw hate - confusion. he saw confusion looming over him in a white night gown with freckled cheeks. 

he looked in your eyes and he’d only seen what he sees in you in one other person.

his mother. 

you let tears flow over your cheeks, laughter rip through you, with such a shine of adoration he himself thought he could cry at the unfamiliarity of seeing that in someone when they looked at him. 

as he does, he lets the water pool over his waterline, and tracks frame his sculptured face. 

he, in all that he was and everything he’d done. these silent punishments and reminders he held over himself to carry as a burden until his bones would shrivel into the earth. how undeserving he felt to have you crying before him. 

the warnings signs that went off within the confines of his skull were ignored, the crawling feeling within his skin was forgotten. 

he extended his hand out to you, wrapping his hand around your wrist gently, and brought your palm to his chest. his skin flushed under your touch, your eyes meeting his with an alarmed gaze, asking if this truly was okay.

he closes his eyes tightly, eyes wrinkled as more tears slipped from his eyes. your touch burned such electricity on him that he sighed in contentedness as your palm met the scarred area. 

“i… just want you here. with me.” he says softly, your hand softly buzzing at the feeling of his voice. he held your hand to him until you met his eyes, red and teary but loving nonetheless. 

you smiled gently, his tresses of golden blonde hair fall over your hands as you pull your hand from his body. 

still hesitant in your movement, alucard himself clenching and unclenching his jaw as his palm opened and neared your skin. 

your eyes float over his body beneath his tunic, as if it were the first time your vision fell over the ripples of muscle and scarred tissue. you swallow, still dubious in your movements in fear of making him uncomfortable. 

your slightly opened palm met his ribs, just above his waist like you’d held him many times before. just past the soft bone his waist caved, elongated torso elegant by design as if god crafted an angel by his own hands. 

the ends of his hair tickled the inside of your wrist, your eyes falling on your hand - slowly traveling up to meet his neck - too flushed to meet his eyes in the moment. 

shortly after, his own large hand settled on your elbow - his knuckles softly wrapping around the fleshy part of your arm - familiarizing himself with the feeling of touching you. 

his eyes dart over the expanse of your chest, the gentle cave of your collarbone - the tendons near your throat stretched beneath your glowing skin. he missed the way looking over your body felt, how much he wished he could remind himself of the parts he yearned to remember, forgotten to his scars. 

he was positive, the love he knew would go unsaid but didn’t need to be spoken. you found the beauty in him impeccable. 

he knew he’d never get enough.


End file.
